


keep us safe and sound

by Alaneii



Series: Lo's Unlucky 13 Prompt Fills [1]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: (but it's not the whole fic), (not bout tim. ya boy's brown.), But after the fact, Gen, Jason Todd's Death, Jewish Tim Drake, Monologuing, Pre-Robin Tim Drake, TDC Unlucky 13, TDC Unlucky Thirteen 2020, Tim Drake is Robin, also u know he's fine and lives again, graveyard, heavy discussion of canonical child death, me: oh god pls no :((, me: wait i have to make this character white don't i, talking to a grave
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:29:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27107251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alaneii/pseuds/Alaneii
Summary: Tim has to be Robin. But there's something he has to do first.He has to talk to Jason Todd.It's time to visit a grave.My fill for one of the TDC server's Unlucky 13 prompts!Day 1 : Supernatural/Graveyards.
Relationships: Gotham & Robin, Jason Todd & Gotham, Tim Drake & Jason Todd
Series: Lo's Unlucky 13 Prompt Fills [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1979293
Comments: 31
Kudos: 88
Collections: TDC's Unlucky Thirteen





	keep us safe and sound

**Author's Note:**

> Before anything else, I must credit @nevertrustakobold. I asked my friend, after writing a fic in two hours, to beta something I had just slapped together in an attempt to post on the right day. Daria then proceeded to help me rewrite full paragraphs, caught all the times I got weird with tense, edited grammar, and basically is the only reason this fic is legible and is at all decent. 
> 
> So thank you, Vasi. I love you. 
> 
> If you have time, go visit daria-draws on tumblr. You will not regret it, I promise.
> 
> \--
> 
> Also, a quote from the google doc:
> 
> "GOD I FUCKING HATE DIALOGUE FUCK FUCK FUCK"
> 
> (thank god for betas)

There were a lot of graveyards in Gotham.

It came with the territory, when you lived in a city so rife with danger. Even if you avoided the villains, or the sickness of the streets, the city itself seemed to thirst for blood.

Tim visited graves often.

Some of them were people he had known. Classmates, a nanny, some people he’d met during his “excursions” in Gotham. Some of them were people Batman couldn’t save. 

Some of them were people Tim had seen die first hand.

But of all the graves he called upon, in all the graveyards, there was one that Tim, even all these months later, just could not bring himself to visit. A grave most people would never understand the significance of.

Jason Todd.

Robin.

Tim had told himself lies. Had made excuses for why he’s never gone. Insisted, even in his own mind, that he was simply scared to run into Bruce Wayne and have to explain himself.

But it was no use. For all his expertise and experience in telling lies to fool, lies that not a single soul would catch, his real talent lay in the opposite direction. Tim could always find the truth, if he tried hard enough — and, well, he’d never been any good at leaving well enough alone.

The truth was, Tim  _ was  _ scared; so filled with fear that it would paralyze him. 

He just wasn’t scared of Batman. The real terror lay in the nagging certainty that he was, put as simply as possible, not  _ enough _ .

* * *

Tim pushed open the gates of Gotham Cemetery, letting his feet guide him down the path he hadn’t allowed himself to walk before now.

He didn't feel worthy of going to Robin. His death had been a great injustice, but in its wake the least that Tim could do was not disturb his rest. He shouldn't bother him, this boy who'd been his hero for so long. He'd wondered, far too often, if there was anything he could have done to prevent his death. It wasn't a thought he was proud of; it felt like the height of arrogance, inserting himself into someone else's tragedy, and thinking he could influence the outcome. This wasn't his place, wasn't  _ his  _ tragedy, but still the question would not leave his mind. Still kept him from ever setting foot near Jason’s grave.

How quickly things changed.

Tim had gone to Dick Grayson (the first Robin!) and begged him for help. Had watched as Batman grew more and more violent, getting more hurt every night.

Tim was a watcher. And Tim had seen death, as any child of Gotham had.

But he was not ready to watch Batman die, and neither was Gotham.

* * *

The grave looked cold.

It was just a headstone and some grass, Tim knew. But Robin —  _ Jason _ , had been so full of life. Of joy and laughter, and most of all, full of an unrelenting kindness that no amount of posturing or eloquently adamant denial could ever fully mask.

Tim settled down to the side of the grave, taking care not to sit over where he thought the small coffin must be. 

And then he took a deep breath, and began to speak.

“I’m sorry, Jason.”

The cemetery was hushed around him, empty and quiet as... Well, as a grave, he supposed. He didn't need to match that silence here, not like the vast, echoing halls of Drake Manor, but habits, once formed, did not break easy; when Tim spoke, he could barely hear his own words against the stillness that surrounded him. He took another breath, and tried again.

“I’m sorry, Jason. I’m sorry for not helping more. I’m sorry for what happened to you, and I’m so, so sorry for what I’m about to do.”

At least, Tim mused to himself, he didn’t have to meet anyone’s eyes when talking like this.

“You deserved better. I hope you know that. You deserve so much better, and I wish I could find something like a summoning spell or whatever, so I could say this to you directly, but this is the best I can do. Apologies at a grave, and some fucking flowers.”

There was, of course, no answer. The air around Tim stayed still, and the grave stayed silent.

“But I’m not that good, so I guess this is what we get. And honestly, how fitting. I'll never be good enough to follow in your footsteps no matter what I do; at least this way, next time I disappoint you it won't be a surprise.”

Tim took the flowers in his hands and laid them down carefully.

The bouquet — which he had chosen at the florist's recommendation, because  _ he _ certainly had no clue what was appropriate to bring to the grave of someone you were essentially replacing — looked far too clean and impersonal, but it’s not like Tim knew what would be better. The flowers were not a tradition of Tim’s; he had no clue how this even worked, really, had seen it in movies and at cemeteries, but had never taken part in the ritual himself, knew nothing about it that meant anything. And god, wasn’t that appropriate. After all, what were Tim and Jason, to each other? Strangers, really. No one at all.

Sure, Tim knew  _ about _ Jason. Knew he was Robin, knew stories of him at school, knew little random facts and tidbits, like the gargoyle he most loved in the city (he would do the Titanic pose on it, even when Batman was anxious and glancing down at just how far down Jason could fall if he lost his footing), or that 24 hour chilli dog stands got a lot of revenue from Batman and his Robin.

But that didn’t matter, because Tim didn’t know  _ Jason _ . 

And now Jason was dead, and Tim would never know him, so honestly, what did it matter that Tim didn’t know what flowers were most appropriate, or what flowers Jason himself would have wanted on his grave. 

Jason had flowers on his grave, and that would have to be enough.

Besides, Tim still had a stone in his pocket, something to leave behind on the headstone when Tim went home. That would be enough for Tim to feel better, and it wasn’t like Jason was going to see the flowers anyways.

...He hoped Jason liked the flowers.

“I wanted to say sorry, and explain, but also I want to say thank you. For me, and for Gotham, and for Batman.”

At this point Jason probably would have barked a laugh, or asked a question. Instead, Tim was met with an owl hooting, and the wind in the trees.

“Thank you for me, because you changed my life. Dick, your brother I mean, he’s great, he really is, but _you._ You were a wholly different Robin, and I mean that in a _really really good way._ ”

“You were so kind, and I know, even though sure it wasn’t me, that people felt really comfortable with you, felt like you were trustworthy, and someone who understood them. You inspired people. And you know what, you did that as Jason Todd too. When you made top of your year, when you cussed out some kid for insulting you and talked about classic lit of all things… well, people talk, and kids talk, and I heard about that. Years apart, and I heard about it, about your rant that people could be tough and like lit or romances, about the way you stood up for people against bullies and it  _ actually worked _ , I heard about all of that. We all did, and let me say, I got bullied a hell of a lot less thanks to you.”

No, Tim, shut up, this isn’t about you.

“Anyhow, I got off track — but you were good to Gotham, and I felt that, and I’ve seen that too. You kept us all safe; safe, and sound, and hoping. But also, you helped Batman. I mean… Bruce?”

There was nobody around to hear Tim.

“You helped your dad. Whether he was Bruce, or Batman, or just himself, you helped your dad. And I’m not close enough to him to talk about that, but god, Jason, he _ loves you, _ so much that without you he’s literally coming apart. So much that I’m here tonight, talking to you, because I can’t think of another way to help him.”

With the thunder in the distance, and the whispered secrets, and the fact that Tim was pretty sure he just heard a  _ wolf _ howl for some reason, he was willing to admit that he is, in fact, not insignificantly spooked, and maybe (definitely) not super pumped to be in a graveyard right now. But Batman had finally retired for the night, so Tim won’t get caught, and also Tim isn’t sure he has much time to stop Batman from going too far.

So tonight it is.

Okay. He can do this.

“Anyhow, I’m sure you’re wondering why I gathered you here today… okay, okay, sorry, I’m done I promise. I’m here for a serious reason, after all. It’s about Robin. And for once, I don’t mean you. I mean the job.”

Tim took out his batarang. He needed a comfort item right now, in this empty field of the dead. Most children preferred stuffed animals, but Tim's always found his solace in the sharp edges of Batman's signature weapon, and right now… Right now he wanted all the comfort he could get. The safety it conferred was all illusory, but the feeling was real enough. The full moon and moving shadows of the branches were not very comforting, and on a normal night, Tim would have run home long ago. But he didn't have that kind of luxury. Not anymore. If his plan was to have any hope of success, he would need to get tougher. He couldn't afford to run home every time he felt scared.

So yeah. Fear wasn’t an option anymore. 

Someone…  _ Robin  _ had died. It was time to grow up.

“The job is… not a filled position, right now. And I'm sorry, I know you didn't leave it on purpose, but it can't stay unfilled. You never saw Batman like this, so I doubt you’ll understand, but…  _ nobody  _ has seen Batman like this. And it won’t be a fix-it, it’ll be a bandaid on a broken— ah, sorry. It, uh. It won’t fix the issue, is my point, but I think Batman is better when he has a Robin, and I think Batman needs as much help as possible right now, or he’s going to become a killer, or just die. Maybe both.”

Oy vey, is this what a job interview feels like? Being an adult sounds the worst. Maybe Tim can stay 12 forever.

_ Jason seems to be doing a pretty good job of that _ , whispered the part of his brain that never learned when to shut up and  _ fuck _ , Tim couldn’t believe himself sometimes. What was  _ wrong _ with him?

“I tried to talk to Dick, but he said he’s Nightwing now, and when I tried to convince Bruce to find a new Robin, he said no. So I think my only choice right now is to just suit up myself, because honestly I’m falling apart not knowing what to do, and so is Gotham.”

Ah. He’s getting choked up.

“And Jason, I wish I could ask you what to do. Ask for guidance or for your blessing or  _ anything _ , but I can’t, and I know I can’t, and I’m so sorry about that. But I can’t ask you. So I’m making this decision myself, because  _ someone _ has to, so I’m gonna be Robin, no matter how much it hurts, no matter how much I struggle, no matter how much I  _ hate it _ because honestly, Jason? I don’t want this. I  _ don’t _ . I don’t want the guilt, or the stress, or the responsibility, but I'm already feeling them all anyways, just watching Bruce break himself with grief, and if I gotta carry all that, I might as well be useful. It might as well mean something, right? I mean, if I already have the consequences, isn’t it kind of my duty to be a hero? For Gotham’s sake. Yeah. If I’m gonna know the secrets, if I’m gonna feel the pressure, I may as well try to be a hero.”

(Okay, he’s just sobbing now. It’s lucky Jason isn’t actually here, because while Tim knows what he’s saying, he’s pretty sure he would be near-unintelligible to anyone else.)

“So Jason… Jason, I’m going to be Robin. And I don’t mean to  _ stay  _ as Robin, not for long, okay? I just need to buy some time. But something needs to be done, and this is all I can think of, all I’ve got, so stop me if you have something better, but I’m gonna be Robin. Hopefully I’ll think of something else. But you aren’t here to help, so it’s on me now. I… I’m sorry about that. And I keep fucking repeating myself, so you probably know that’s true by now, I guess. But it is true. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. But I’m going to do everything I can to do right by you. And that means helping Bruce, which means being Robin.”

Tim sighed and laid down. Yes, across the grave. It was just a body in a box; it wasn’t like he could voice any objections. And yes Tim liked to talk to the departed, but honestly, he knew better. They were all gone, gone for good. He was literally talking about that.

So, why not lay down above a coffin. The night was already creepy enough. Tim was already sad enough. He was almost done, anyhow.

“I guess that’s all. I’m going to be Robin, I’ve convinced myself. And I’m sorry, but it’s what needs to happen, so it’s happening. And, thank you. Just… thank you, Jason.”

Tim rolled onto his side, ignoring the tears sliding down into the dirt.

“Thank you.”

* * *

And that was that.

(Tim was definitely going to come back)

Tim was ready.

(He wasn’t.)

Tim would be Robin. 

(Not a real one, of course. Just a temporary substitute. But that still counted for something, right?)

The rain beat down on Tim. He hadn’t noticed it start.

It tasted salty.

Tim was cold, so cold. He needed to get out of the rain before it got worse, but he couldn’t seem to bring himself to move.

So Tim lay there, imagining if he had been able to just talk to Jason himself.

He had thought about it before. About confiding in him, telling him what he meant, to Tim and to Gotham. Wished that if Tim had to be Robin, it could have been with Jason’s blessing. 

He wished so hard, that he could imagine hearing it on the wind. The branches creaking and scratching, sounding almost like— 

Wait.

It was raining. Everything was muffled.

And it wasn’t windy.

It wasn’t windy.

And Tim wasn’t imagining anything. No. He was… he was hearing something?

The newest Robin sat up quickly. The sound went away.

...

God, was he imagining things now? That wasn’t a safe trait for a Robin.

Wasn’t safe for any Gothamite, really, though with the amount of chemicals, gasses and toxins released into the public on the regular, it was also tragically common.

Tim breathed out carefully. Okay. He was scared, and imagining things. He just… just needed to rest. He could just lay down a bit, catch his breath. Then he would go home.

He settled back down against the ground. All good.

He curled up on his side, eyes fixed firmly on Jason’s headstone to distract himself from the twitchy, anxious need to keep checking over his shoulder.

All— wait. Not all good. The sound was back.

Tim started to move, then froze.

The sound, if it was coming from the ear pressed up against the ground, didn’t that mean it was  _ from underground _ ? Like a mole or something?

The rain was coming down in sheets.

Tim had to be brave. Just be brave, then he could sleep.

He put his ear to the ground.

He— oh god.

_ That was a scream. _

Tim rocketed up, nearly jumping out of his skin. He stared at the headstone. At Robin’s name.

Robin. 

Heroes work with magic. Tim was not hearing things.

Tim needed to dig.

He couldn’t seem to think through the cold. 

The flowers went flying off to the side, quickly followed by clots of cold, heavy dirt that Tim pulled up with his batarang.

There it was. The sound of cracking and scratching.

It was getting louder.

He couldn’t breathe. Tim felt almost like a ghost himself, shivering as he frantically repeated the same motion again and again.

Everything was so, so cold.

He couldn’t focus. All he could do was dig, and dig, and dig, until— 

Warm. Something warm, against his frantic fingers, soft and living and desperate— 

So close now. He dug, with renewed energy and focus, and pulled, and dug, and  _ dug and dug and dug. _

Until at last enough dirt had been cleared, and coffin shredded, to reveal the muddy shape of a  _ living person, _ and Tim could reach down into the dirt and hoist him up under the armpits, heaving up and backwards, struggling to lift, until finally, he had pulled a shaking boy from his cold, cold grave.

Tim held him though every cough and wheeze, watching him spit up clumps of soil and supporting him as he nearly collapsed in exertion with each panting gasp for air.

His brain still, still wasn’t working. Still felt suspended, frozen, just like his fingers and his toes and every other rain-soaked part of him.

And then, Tim met a pair of the most terrified blue eyes he had ever seen.

He had seen people look less scared as they  _ died. _

Tim looked.

This was an unfamiliar expression on this particular face, and this was not something Tim would have ever expected, but he knew that face. Knew it nearly as well as his own. Perhaps better, given Tim’s hatred of mirrors, and the many hours he'd spent developing his photos of Gotham’s heroes.

Tim opened his mouth. Closed it. Thought. 

Opened it again.

“Hi Jason,” he said gently, relieved beyond words at the recognition that flashed in the other boy's eyes at the name. "Let's get you home.”

**Author's Note:**

> The door opened quickly, pulled back by a man filled with shock and worry.
> 
> "Hi Mr. Bruce," Tim said. "Please don't faint?"
> 
> Tim stepped to the side, and Jason Todd-Wayne looked up and met his father's eyes.
> 
> \--
> 
> thanks for reading ! you can find me on tumblr at @alaneiii (one more i) to talk, discuss DC, ask about this prompt event, or yell at me for my crimes! 
> 
> i hope y'all enjoyed this fic, and there are more to come! including the ones i came up with while trying to title this, lmao. (tim saving jason from the league of assassins, anyone?)
> 
> comments are greatly beloved !


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